User blog:Squibstress/Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967) - Chapter 9
Title: Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967) Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; character death Published: 02/06/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Nine Minerva was at her desk, attempting to outline a lesson plan for whoever was going to take her classes when she was on leave, when she heard a knock at the door. “Enter,” she called. The round-cheeked face of Molly Prewett peeked through the door. “I’m sorry, Professor. I can come back another time if you’re busy …” “Not at all, Miss Prewett. Please come in.” She Banished her papers to a drawer. “What can I do for you?” The girl reddened. “I had some questions about … what we talked about the other day,” she said. “I see,” said Minerva. “Then perhaps we should close the door,” she said, doing so with a wandless spell. Molly had trouble beginning. She had been looking at her Transfiguration professor with increasing scrutiny since the day of their previous talk and the gossip in the common room following Professor McGonagall’s hasty departure from her N.E.W.T. class. She had been watching the way her teacher walked and sat. There was nothing ungraceful about how the tall witch glided through the corridors or moved during a Transfiguration lesson, but Molly thought she had noticed Professor McGonagall taking just a moment longer than usual to rise from a chair, and she had seen her place her slender hands at the small of her back on several occasions as if it were sore. After her embarrassing talk with Professor McGonagall, Molly had gone to the library to see what more she could find out. There was depressingly little about sex—just a slim, pink volume, The Young Witch’s Guide to Marriage and Household Management, that only advised the young witch in question to make sure she was freshly bathed and “at her most alluring” in preparation for the wedding night. There was, however, a fair amount of material dealing with the biological aspects of pregnancy and birth, although the steps one had to take to get there were frustratingly opaque. Having devoured the information, Molly had begun to cast an appraising eye at Professor McGonagall. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she had noticed a distinct change in her teacher’s normally slender figure as the woman’s robes moved and occasionally parted while she was giving instruction, allowing Molly fleeting glances at the body normally hidden within the voluminous, green teaching robe. Moreover, when she had hugged Professor McGonagall after their talk the other day, Molly thought she had felt something through the woman’s robes. Molly’s feelings had been roiling and churning for weeks before. She had been going out with Arthur Weasley since the middle of their fourth year, and lately his company and his kisses had made her aware of feelings that she had never before experienced and didn’t fully understand. Increasingly, she would arrive at the end of one of their dates feeling full and hollow at the same time, as if she had been prevented from finishing a feast placed in front of her after weeks of famine. She knew the nameless want had to do with Arthur’s physical proximity to her, but she hadn’t the slightest idea how to assuage it. That was why, one Saturday night, in a quiet corner of the Astronomy tower, she had finally let Arthur move a tentative hand over her right breast as they kissed. As the hand had begun to gently squeeze, she had felt warmer than she could ever remember. When a finger brushed over the nipple that was hardening through her clothes, she felt something that was like a burst of colour down there, and it left her breathless with the need for more. She wanted to feel his hands all over her because it felt so good the way he was touching her—oh, she wanted! … something for which she had no words. Then she had got frightened and pushed the hand away. She had been on the verge of something forbidden, something dangerous, she thought. She had excoriated herself later, in her bed with her curtains drawn to shut out the other giggling, gossiping girls in the dormitory. What had she done? Why had she felt like that? All at once, a terrible feeling had come over her. What if she was pregnant? She didn’t quite know how it was meant to happen, but her brothers, Gideon and Fabian, had warned her to watch out for boys. That if she “messed around” with them, she could find herself pregnant and in disgrace. They had never defined “messing around”, but Molly was fairly certain that what she had done with Arthur qualified. Only something serious—something earth-shattering—could have made her feel like that, she reasoned. She was smart enough to realise she needed the help and advice of an older woman—not one of her friends, who were likely as not to give her bad advice out of the best intentions. But there was no one to turn to. She was alone. When Professor Lemmas had found her crying in the Gryffindor common room the following Monday afternoon when she should have been in class, he knew something was quite wrong. When he was unsuccessful at persuading the girl to either stop crying or to tell him what the problem was, he had suggested perhaps she might like to speak with a female professor, and she agreed. Later, though, when he had given her the instruction to appear at Professor McGonagall’s office that afternoon, she cursed herself bitterly. Not Professor McGonagall! The prim, stern Transfiguration professor was the last person who would understand, Molly thought. Not only that, she had reasoned, the Deputy Headmistress would probably persuade the Headmaster to expel her immediately. Worst of all, though, was the thought that Professor McGonagall would lose all respect for her—a respect Molly knew she had earned through her hard work over six years of Transfiguration classes and duelling club matches, and one she valued highly. When it had turned out that her professor’s reaction was not what she expected—not at all—Molly had begun to reappraise both her estimation of Minerva McGonagall and her own feelings about what the older witch had told her. As she stood now in Professor McGonagall’s office, words failed her as her teacher looked at her expectantly. Finally, Molly summoned her Gryffindor courage and spoke: “I think I might be changing my mind,” she said. “About?” enquired Professor McGonagall. “About … sex. I think it sounds … interesting.” “Interesting,” repeated Professor McGonagall. “And are we speaking theoretically, or did you have a more practical application in mind?” Molly was afraid Professor McGonagall was mocking her, but the look on the older woman’s face suggested she was serious. “I was wondering if you could tell me what to do when … if I decide to … so I don’t have a baby,” said Molly. Professor McGonagall looked at her intently for a moment, and Molly felt as if the woman were looking right into her soul “I think, Molly, that we had best continue this conversation in my quarters,” she said finally. When they had settled into Professor McGonagall’s sitting room, tea in front of them once again, the teacher looked her student in the eye and asked, “Molly, are you considering having sex with Arthur?” “I don’t know, Professor. Not right away. But I want to be ready … if we decide to,” Molly answered. “You realise that you and Arthur would be breaking school rules if you were to do so here?” Minerva said, her eyebrows flattening into a frown that made her look severe. Molly blanched, and Minerva thought perhaps she had been too harsh. She also felt a twinge of guilt for her hypocrisy. True, she had been eighteen when she had embarked on her affair with Albus, but he had also been her teacher at the time and more than forty years her senior. What it had lacked in illegality, it had more than made up for in inappropriateness and risk to the both of them. She continued more gently, “Molly, this is rather a sudden change of heart. When we last spoke, you were absolutely certain you could never ‘do that’, as you put it. Now, you are asking me to tell you how to obtain contraception. I’m sorry, but I’m a bit confused.” “No, I’m sorry, Professor. I shouldn’t have bothered you about this.” “It isn’t a bother,” Minerva said. “I am trying to understand so I can help you.” She decided to begin again. “Molly, you and Arthur are very young. I know you think you love him—” “I do love him!” shouted Molly. “Don’t tell me how I feel, Professor.” Minerva was taken aback, not only at the girl’s unusual outburst, but by the sudden memory of her eighteen-year-old self and how she had felt hearing the same words she had just spoken to Molly. “I’m sorry, Molly. You are quite right,” she said. “I shouldn’t presume to know how you feel. I’m just concerned that you may be racing into something you are not yet ready for.” “I know, Professor, and I’m sorry for shouting. But how will I know when I’m ready … when Arthur is ready?” “To be honest, I don’t have an answer for you,” Minerva said, a sigh escaping her. “Then how did you know, Professor?” asked Molly. She was getting angry with the professor’s apparent unwillingness to answer her fully. “Molly, I don’t think—” “But you are pregnant, aren’t you?” Molly asked accusingly. Molly could almost hear her heart pounding in the silence that followed. “Yes.” Professor McGonagall was perfectly calm. Molly was stunned that her suspicion—one she hadn’t intended to voice—had been correct. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she whispered. “Don’t be. I’m not,” Professor McGonagall answered pleasantly. “Are you going to have to leave Hogwarts,” asked Molly, her sudden anguish making her sound like a small child. “No. Although I will be on leave from my duties for a few weeks after the baby is born.” “But the scandal … does Professor Dumbledore know?” “Given that he is the responsible party, I rather think he does,” Minerva said with some amusement. She took a not entirely benign pleasure in seeing the girl’s large, brown eyes open wide with shock. Taking pity on her, Minerva continued, “And I assure you, Molly, that there will be little scandal. Professor Dumbledore has been my husband for nearly ten years.” “Oh … I thought …” Molly let the thought trail off. “Yes, I can see what you thought. You made an assumption and have subsequently discovered how wrong assumptions can be. Now that we’ve got that straightened out, perhaps we could turn the conversation back to the subject of your love life,” Minerva said. “Yes, Professor.” Minerva surprised Molly then by taking her hand, the warmth back in her voice. “Molly, I can’t tell you whether or not you should go to bed with Mr Weasley. As your teacher and Deputy Headmistress of this school, it’s my duty to tell you in no uncertain terms not to. As your friend”—Molly flushed at the term—” I can only tell you that you must follow your heart but that it is also imperative to let your head have a say in the decision. As for contraception, “she said, rising, “I can’t give you what you seek. However …” she went to a bookshelf and pulled out a slim volume with various medical-looking words on the spine. “I see no reason to prevent an advanced student from accessing texts that may provide enlightenment beyond the standard curriculum.” She handed the book to an astonished Molly. “Thank you, Professor,” said Molly, still in shock. “You’re quite welcome. You can thank me by making sure you read that before you come to any important decisions.” “Oh, I will,” said Molly. Sensing that the bizarre interview was nearly over, Molly suddenly wanted to hold on to the warm, maternal feeling that had enveloped her in the past five minutes. “Professor?” “Yes, Molly?” “Do you think I could touch it?” Minerva started. “Touch what?” “The baby. I mean … never mind. I’m sorry,” Molly said, blushing. It had been on the tip of Minerva’s tongue to scold her for her impertinence, but something stopped her. Maybe it was her hormones, she thought later, or maybe it was just the girl’s obvious need for mothering, but Minerva said nothing. She opened her teaching robe, took Molly’s hand, and placed it over her burgeoning belly. The two women stood there, saying nothing for a few moments, until the baby inside Minerva took the opportunity to place a large kick to its mother’s belly, making Molly cry, “Oh!” in surprise and delight. She looked up into her teacher’s face in wonder, and the two smiled at one another. In later years, Minerva would believe that her long friendship with Molly Weasley, née Prewett, had truly been born on that day, in that moment of shared awe. After Molly removed her hand, saying a soft “thank you” to her professor, Minerva said, “I don’t think I need to tell you that this is not to be shared with anyone else yet—not even Mr Weasley. Professor Dumbledore and I intend to inform the other students soon, but we would prefer to do it in an orderly fashion rather than by gossip and word-of-mouth. I assume we can count on your discretion?” “Of course.” Molly thought she would walk through fire for Minerva McGonagall. ← Back to Chapter 8 On to Chapter 10→ Category:Chapters of Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967)